


"Truths": the many unsaid (and the one always said)

by SomeTorist



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Sequence, Gen, M/M, So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeTorist/pseuds/SomeTorist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He runs.</p><p>He hides.</p><p>He suffers through silence.</p><p>(He doesn't know (he's not alone).)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost / alone

_Lost._

\-------

"I'm at the corner of forty-fourth and eighth," Steve says into the cell phone over the usual Times Square din.

 _"Excellent,"_ Tony replies distractedly, _"Happy'll be there in fifteen minutes.  He takes any longer and I'll fire him, promise. --No, Dummy, you dunce, not_ there _; on the fucking joint--"_ and Tony hangs up.

A sleek, dark blue car with tinted windows pulls up only ten minutes later, but when Steve slides into the passenger's seat, he's surprised to see Tony sitting beside him.

"Happy looked busy," Tony says in response to the surprise that must have flitted across Steve's face.  They merge into traffic as Steve says, "Oh.  Well, thank you." because he knows that Tony has more important things to do than rescue him from the now-confusing mess of subway lines.

Tony only grins.  "Hey, it's the perfect opportunity to test drive my baby," he says, and pats the dashboard affectionately.  He shoots a glance at Steve, who bites back the urge to ask that he keep his eyes on the road.  "Why were you on the subway, anyway?" Tony asks suddenly.

It's thirty seconds before Steve manages to murmur, "I wanted to see Brooklyn."  He shifts in his seat, vaguely uncomfortable in this "car" of Tony's, with its indeterminate number of dials and buttons and switches.

"Still wanna go?"  Tony's gaze is back on the road, his tone is neutral, and Steve knows instinctively that if he were to say yes, they'd be in Brooklyn in less than fifteen minutes.

"...Nah," he finally says with an affectionate smile that Tony doesn't see, "not anymore."

Tony shrugs, making a sharp left onto the road leading to Stark Tower: "Well, whenever, let me know, Cap, and I'll hook you up with Happy.  There's no need to take the _subway,_ Jesus."  He shudders then, like it's the worst thing in the world, and Steve just laughs.

\-------

There are moments when the whole team clicks; when every member of the Avengers is on the same page.  Seamless cohesion.

Bruce knows these moments, because he watches them unfold on a screen, a few hours after every battle is won.

The other guy's memories are hazy at best, always tinged with blood and available in only four colors, three of which taste like metal.  The other guy doesn't remember the cohesion, the teamwork, the seamlessness; he remembers only the exhilaration, the primal roars ripped from his throat at the thrill of the hunt, the cracking skulls, and the instinctual push-pull towards any enemies.

The other guy only remembers the wet heat of fresh blood on his hands.

And again, Bruce finds himself sitting in his lab in Stark Tower, alone, watching "highlights" of the day's victory, and he no longer flinches whenever a grisly green stranger fills the screen.

A sudden rap on the door, and Tony sweeps in without so much as a hello: " _Lord of the Rings_ marathon.  Popcorn.  Milkshakes.  Prime ribs.  Right now." and he's gone.

Bruce blinks, and before he can even turn the monitor off, Tony sticks his head back in.  "Come _on, come on,_ big fella, haven't got all day -- chop chop!" and he vanishes again.

With a weary sigh that's less weary and more of a sigh, Bruce smiles hesitantly to himself and rises from the chair, leaving the lab behind him with only one backwards glance.

\-------

After three days alone in the workshop; after Steve ventures downstairs to convince him to eat; after Tony resolutely ignores him before calmly explaining why he needs to finish this miniature, de-bugged version of Dummy before doing anything else; after Steve's stupid enough to argue; after Tony ignores him; after Steve doesn't shut up; after Tony turns and explodes, spewing anger and self-loathing and saying that this robotic arm could be (will be (must be)) the best thing to happen to modern surgery and can't Steve see that, why can't he see that, why can't he see that Tony needs to do this, needs to offer this part of himself as penance for the deaths he's caused, the people he's killed, the lives he's ruined, goddamnit Steve, I need to do this, can't you see, _I need to do this;_

After, Steve just looks at him and says, "...Oh, _Tony_." and there's so much affection in his eyes that Tony barely cares that it feels like his soul is seeping out through his cracks.

After, Steve brings chicken soup down to the workshop, along with the second _Harry Potter_ book, which he begins to read silently from the stool across from Tony's.

\-------

_Too messed up to find my way back  
(alone)._


	2. Unwanted / unlovable

_Unwanted._

\-------

Bruce is careful to never initiate physical contact.

Despite the video clips on the news of boys pretending to tear their shirts off in homage to him (the other guy), Bruce isn't fooled.  Brute strength is laudable only when pointed at the enemy, and humanity has always been nothing if not fickle.

At the few press events Director Fury forces him to attend, Bruce meets kids like the ones on TV -- naive boys and girls wearing t-shirts emblazoned with cartoons of the stranger everyone else calls 'The Hulk,' who greet him with enthusiastic growls and assorted memorabilia.  He signs every green crayon drawing thrust at him, smiles at every plush doll, poses with every plastic action figure, but he never moves out from behind the table, no matter how much the kids plead for a photograph.

Because their moms are always there, with their folded arms and their pointed looks and the cautious way they shake his hand and thank him for his service.  Because he knows they're really saying _'Thank you, keep it up, stay away from me and everyone I love, thanks, have a lovely life,'_ before whisking their children away.

He doesn't blame them, of course.  How could he?

Every day, he wishes he could run like that.

\-------

Steve doesn't know what he can do with his hands anymore, because the rules have changed and no one's thought to give him a copy of the revised manual.

"Chivalry is still in style," Tony assures him with a pat on the shoulder, "And you're the most goddamn chivalrous guy on the planet.  Just woo 'em with your..."  He gestures vaguely, like he's searching for the right word.  "...Just woo them like you would any girl," he finally says, giving up, and he refuses to give Steve any more helpful advice on twenty-first century women.  After that, it's a lot of frustrated waving and gibberish like "The way to any heart is expensive shit.  Buy lots of expensive shit." and "They tell you 'just be yourself,' but that's a load of bull.  _Never_ be yourself on a first date." and "Flowers.  When in doubt, flowers.  --Well, unless she's allergic."

But Steve's seen the movies, and -- Nicholas Sparks adaptations aside -- he knows the definition of 'chivalry' has changed.  Now, dames don't like being called dames or ladies or girls -- they're _women_.  Now, when he holds a door open for a dame (a _woman_ , sorry), he risks being called a "chauvinist male supremacist"; the first time this happens, he's outside a Starbucks and doesn't like the sound of it, because he'd thought he was just being nice, not "contributing to the oppressive, patriarchal system."

So maybe chivalry _is_ in, but as with everything else, Steve hasn't been upgraded with the times.

\-------

Tony touches everyone.

In between the brilliant inventions and the sleepless nights and the Saving The World, there are ass taps and shoulder clasps and pats on the back.  Because Tony's touch is a goddamn blessing, isn't it, because he's a goddamn miracle and everyone loves Tony Stark (except everyone who doesn't, but they never fucking counted anyway, right (wrong)).  And when he's with Pepper, the concept of personal space doesn't exist because they're dating and he loves her all-consumingly.  And when they inevitably break up (amicably, _amicably_ , they're still friends and it's not like Tony's heart hasn't been irreparably shattered before), no one in the world is safe from Tony Stark's touch -- _personal space, what's personal space_ \-- because he's fine, he's totally fine, and he can prove it to you because BAM he just slapped Barton's ass and that's all the affection he needs, honestly, because it doesn't get any better than that.

And this is the way it'll always be, won't it (of course): the impossibly miraculous Tony Stark, the insomniatic mad scientist with everything to prove and nothing to lose, he'll always be alone with only a few ass taps as consolation -- but at least he's surrounded by the Avengers' gorgeous asses, right, and that has to count for something

because it's all he'll ever have.

\-------

_Unlovable._


	3. No / on

_ No one can know. _

\-------

It’s no secret—Bruce can go days without saying more than five sentences.

_"You_ can't; _I know, I've tried,"_ and he wanted to take it back immediately, but he was finally saying it all aloud and he couldn't stop.   _"I got low-- so I put a bullet in my mouth, and the other guy spit it out."_ He still remembers the complete silence and meeting Tony's gaze without registering his shock.  That was the first time, and Bruce is silently adamant that it will be the last.

_"We're a time bomb,"_ he'd said, and it's still true; they're seamless like a team and fragile like a time bomb, because it doesn't take a physist to know that alone, each of the Avengers is volatile.  They each have their weaknesses, their vices, their demons-- but only Bruce is lucky enough to have a physical manifestation of his culmination of all three.

So now they all know about his weakest moment; but they don't know that many times, he believes it to have been his finest hour.  

And that, they really don't need to know.

\-------

It’s no secret—Tony talks all the time.

He talks to anyone who will listen, he talks to his bots, he talks to the Villain of the Day (even if they can't hear and/or understand him), he talks to himself.  And it's become his Thing, talking incessantly -- everyone, even Pepper, has just accepted it as A Thing That Tony Does and luckily, no one asks why.

"It's a prototype of a tracking arrow for Barton," he tells JARVIS (an empty room), "Once I get it working, he'll be able to get readings within a radius of three hundred -- no, seven hundred -- miles after he activates it.  The blueprints are a thing of _beauty_ , just look at 'em!"

If someone did ask, Tony would say it was because, like everyone else, he loves the sound of his own voice.  If Tony were forced to tell the truth, he would say that he talks for the same reason that he goes days without sleeping: to stifle the screams and the nightmares.

But even that wouldn't be the full story, would it?

After a childhood of being treated like a pseudo-mute, Tony talks because if he doesn't, he'll disappear.

\-------

Steve learned to hold his tongue long ago.

It happens in the quiet moments – when he’s alone at the kitchen counter, when there’s a lull in dinner conversation, when he sits atop Stark Towers and gazes down at the city he once knew.  Steve knows homesickness; knows it like the phantom scars on his back, like the pre-serum button-down at the bottom of his trunk, like the taste of ma’s homemade apple pie.  Steve knows homesickness like the back of his hand, knows it only hibernates during missions, and he knows how to bury it and carry it with him when it wakes.

But he’s never known it like this.

He recognizes the familiar ache in his gut, that hollow-stomach feeling, but it’s never been this consuming.  When Clint references Harry Potter or Tony says “Terminator something or other” and everyone chuckles (Thor included, because Thor chuckles at everything), Steve just sits and smiles, and the current tugs at him.  When Dr. Banner talks lab research with Tony as Clint and Natasha converse entirely in significant gazes, Steve occasionally tries to find common ground with Thor, but Steve still doesn’t really believe he’s a god and no one ever wants to talk about a mission once it’s done, so he ends up eating his dinner in relative silence.

And so he drifts in that current and knows instinctively that the homesickness will never disappear, because he can never return home.  And the longing for a place that no longer exists, he thinks, is perhaps the worst kind of longing of all.

\-------

_ Soldier on. _


	4. I'm / wicked

_"I’m no hero, ma’am."_

 

> **Hero**
> 
> Noun
> 
> A person who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities
> 
> Antonym: villain

\-------  
Tony’s a hero by definition.  

 _“I’m just not the hero type,”_ he’d said on The First Day, on Day One of it all.  He’d been so clear—crystal clear, even, and yet. 

And yet, that stunt with the missile seems to have created some massive, some _awful_ and massive, “fan base” thing that suddenly wants to be like him.  There are men getting His Beard and there are people wearing t-shirts with arc reactors drawn on them and there are kids aspiring to be like him and god, that's something Tony has always actively avoided.

His stunt with the missile seems very _Iron Giant-_ esque from the media’s perspective—genius billionaire playboy ‘philanthropist’ stuck up in his tower suddenly willing to give his life for the entire city of New York, suddenly willing to fly into another dimension with a nuke strapped to his back.  And everyone seems to have forgotten that Tony’s hands, the ones that had _held_ that nuke to his back, are responsible for other nukes—nukes that hadn’t been derailed by a man in a metal can with a mini metal can near his heart; nukes that had found their targets; nukes that had actually hit and hurt cities just as innocent as New York.

And in Tony’s book, one act of penance doesn’t amount to heroism, and it never will. 

\-------

Bruce is a hero by association.

Sometimes, he wakes, screaming, at 3:29 in the morning, covered in sweat and tinged with green.  Always, he pushes the green back until he’s just a shaking husk so pale that he glows in his empty bedroom (alone, he’s always alone), and he hasn’t let the other guy out for fear in years.

But the nightmares remind him of a time when he didn’t have to -- of a time when this seething well of rage had been so hidden that he hadn’t known of its existence.  In the early days, Bruce had sworn that Ross had changed him, made him into something different than what he already was.

Now, of course, after years of scientific study and measured introspection, Bruce knows the truth that he’d known all along.

Ross’s experiment didn’t _transform_ Bruce -- it revealed him.  

\-------

Steve is a war hero, and he can’t seem to escape the machine of public relations.

After Tony spits coffee onto a reporter and Clint sits through a one-on-one interview in complete silence, it’s Steve and Natasha who shoulder the brunt of the PR duties.  They form a routine, an unspoken rhythm-- which isn’t too extraordinary, since the reporters’ questions are always the same.

“Where did the alien(s) come from?”

“Who will pay for the damages?”

“What’s been the biggest hurdle that you’ve faced as a team?”

“Which Avenger has the best butt?”

And then one day, during a solo interview, a reporter from CNN asks a question that isn’t a question.

“Tell me about the war, Captain,” he says.  “You’ve become quite the public figure; we all know the stories of your heroism.”

And there’s a twisting in his gut and a tingling in his fingers as he suddenly sees the grinning faces of the Howling Commando’s, suddenly feels a wave of frigid air splash his face--

“‘Heroism,’” he hears himself echo thinly, and he’s choking.

\--suddenly sees a mess of brown curls falling falling falling even as his fingers clutch at emptiness.

So Steve says what war veterans say when they come home: “The real heroes are the fella’s still buried over there, and those that came home to be buried.”

And Steve bites down on the rest, on the apology, on the loaded suggestion that the reporter talk to other veterans of the War-- veterans that were forced to face the real consequences, the real pain of adjustment, the _reality_ of a post-war world.  He’d sworn never again to be a media puppet in a mask, but he’s suddenly reminded of can-can lines and spandex suits, and he almost turns to the camera and apologizes to those veterans: “I’m sorry; _you_ deserve this.”

But he doesn’t.

\-------

> **Villain**
> 
> Noun
> 
> A person guilty or capable of committing a crime or of being wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry; I know people wanted a happy ending and probably more romance than was delivered, but these guys had other plans. We don't always get happy endings, I guess.


End file.
